Course of the Heart (3 page)

“Lady, this isn’t a bar.”

“Okay, okay. Regular Coke is fine.”

“Coming right up.”

He had rolled up his sleeves and the arm muscles flexed as he chipped ice from a block and mixed the drink. He reached into a plastic bag, retrieved and threw a slice of lime into the cup, handed it to her and sat back silently in his chair. She cautiously sipped the drink.

“The rum should do the trick, to dull the feeling, that is. Drink up while I go on deck and check the heading. That should give that sedative time to work. I’m guessing you’re not up for the week it will take to get to the Keys, so I’ll need to take a bearing more to the east. Should help us pick up the speed a little also. In about seventy-two hours, I can drop you off around Tampa. Sorry, that’s the best I can do, given the winds.”

Sam nodded in agreement and forced herself to look away as he turned and moved his nice posterior up the ladder. Feeling uncomfortable about even three days on the boat with him, she tipped the large plastic cup and drained half of the strong drink. By the time he returned the cup was empty and she was beginning to relax.

“Whoa.” He looked at the cup and frowned. “That was a little fast.”

“Could I have another one?” For the first time in weeks she was relaxed, and she suspected it was because with every minute that passed, she was farther from Brad.

He mixed another drink, sat it in front of her, and continued the treatment. The rum indeed helped and her eyelids grew heavy, as his right hand worked gently on her cuts. The fingers of his left hand were weaved into her hair at the back and base of her skull. The strength of his hold was comforting. The waves picked up and he had to scoot closer to keep his hand from moving too much with the motion of the boat.

He removed his hand from her hair and began tending to her cuts. He was close enough for her to feel his breath on her face, as he steadily went about the task of applying medicine and bandages. With the rum in full effect, Samantha found herself strangely attracted to this man, the light smell of cola on his breath, the distinct not too unpleasant smell of a man who had been out in the sun all day, the heat from his hand on the back of her neck. When he completed the task and withdrew his hands, she swayed toward him, in an effort to steady herself. She couldn’t seem to open her eyes.

“Easy there. We’re all done here. You might need to lie down for a while and let that sedative wear off. That was quite a slug of rum you downed.”

She would have to agree. As she stood, the room began to spin and she tipped forward. Those big, warm hands steadied her shoulders. He spun her slowly around toward the guest stateroom, and walked her toward the berth. For a fleeting moment she thought about what it would be like with someone like him, given his reputation. She had heard all the rumors about his sexual prowess. A chill passed over her with the thought. Feeling quite content, she smiled and sat hard on the edge of the cushion and promptly fell over. She couldn’t seem to lose the smile, as he lifted her legs onto the bed, placed a pillow under her head, and covered her with a light blanket.

All that was missing was a goodnight kiss. This thought made her giggle as she opened her eyes and looked at him. He didn’t seem amused.

She looked again, and he was gone.

She woke to dim light in the stateroom with the realization that the boat was still in motion. Surprisingly, she felt refreshed with little after-effects from the rum. The throb in her face was gone, and the swelling was subsiding. How could that happen so fast? She lay in the coolness of the stateroom and began to feel the guilt, as she remembered that she had been too relaxed, too trustful of the man who held her trapped on his boat. She knew little about him, only what she had heard. However, so far, his actions did little to support his reputation. He had conducted himself like a gentleman, a man not self-centered at all. Was that part of his act? Treat the girl like a lady and then pounce on her? The fact remained that she had let herself become vulnerable. In the past that kind of naivety had gotten her into trouble. She resolved to be careful, remembering that this, too, was how Brad once treated her. He wooed her with kindness and sweet acts of chivalry before changing overnight and becoming the monster he was today. She shivered as she thought about him, and had the ominous feeling that she hadn’t seen the last of him. As a former detective, he had not only the resources to find her but the incentive now, based on the humiliation Drew dealt him the night before. She realized she must keep things in perspective and jump ship at the first opportunity, and go about getting on with her life. She had to do this not only for her own good, but to protect the man who had saved her and done so much to help her.

She feared that next time Brad would be prepared.

She washed her face and brushed her hair in the guest bathroom and pulled a sweater from her bag. She opened the door to her stateroom and walked to the galley. She found him cooking. He wore a cotton shirt and khaki shorts and sandals, with his hair in a ponytail, protruding from the back of an Atlanta Braves baseball cap.

“I didn’t realize you would sleep all night,” he said, and appeared to want to be anywhere other than where he was at the moment. “You must be hungry.”

“It’s morning?”

“Yeah, you’re just in time for some grub. I hope you like bacon and eggs.”

“Yes, thank you. I have to admit I’m pretty hungry. By the way, who’s driving the boat?”

“Auto-pilot. Coffee?”

“Please. Let me get it.”

“Suit yourself.”

She walked by him and he moved away, avoiding her. He reached above and produced a mug and set it next to the coffee pot. His aloofness made her feel uncomfortable, as if maybe her full memory of the night was clouded by the fog from the rum.

“Did I miss something, Mr. Richey?”

He dumped the eggs onto a plate and turned the burner off. His back was to her and he dipped his head, as if in prayer and then turned quickly to her. “Look, Samantha, I’m sorry about what your boyfriend did to you, and honestly I am glad I was able to help, but . . . this isn’t a good time for me. I guess you’ve probably heard some pretty nasty things about me and . . . women, and maybe some . . . or most of it is true. But one of the reasons I left Fairhope was to get away from that life. I have a lot on my mind right now, and well, it’s not a good time to think about any kind of relationship—”

“What?! You think I want to get involved with you?”

“Well, you were pretty loose yesterday while I was—”

“Mr. Richey, let me get one thing straight for you.” She moved toward him, glaring up at him. He backed away, against the counter. “The very
last
thing
I
need at the moment is to be involved with a man. And certainly not one with your reputation . . . and bad boy charm . . . well, certainly not one like you. I’m sorry I happened to pick your boat. But believe me, I didn’t pick it on purpose. I will forever be grateful for your help in getting me away from that monster, I really will. But getting involved with you in any form or fashion was not what I had in mind while you were attending to my wounds.”

She placed her hands on her hips defiantly. “And for the record, I will be counting the minutes until we reach a port where I can start a new life without you, Brad, or anybody else of your gender. So, let’s not be laboring under any false illusions here, okay? I will be happy to pay you for your trouble and for any supplies I use until I can walk away from your little floating den of iniquity as fast as my feet can carry me. But that’s the end of it, Mr. Blue-Eyed Charm. There will be no ‘us’.”

His deer in the headlights expression turned into a slight smile.

“I fail to see the humor in anything I have said, Mr. Richey,” Samantha snapped. “You must know that’s what everyone thinks of you and this boat of yours, although I’ve heard less savory names for both. There may be a myriad of squealing little girls who faint when you come near or are knocked over by your good looks and that . . . body, but not this girl. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, ma’am, crystal.” He made himself busy, filling plates with food. He seemed relieved. “Now that you’ve cleared the air about that, would you like more coffee?”

“Please,” she said, meekly. “Thank you.”

“Okay, as you probably noticed, this boat has split cabins. Your part is just that, it belongs to you as long as you’re here. I won’t cross an imaginary line that runs across the middle of the boat, except maybe if the boat’s on fire. And you don’t cross that same line and come over to the bow, where my quarters are. The galley and main cabin are common grounds. Deal?”

He extended his hand and she took it, feeling his strength and warmth.

“Deal.”

As they sat to eat, and after a long silence, Samantha felt the need to further clarify the situation.

“And by the way, Mr. Richey, I don’t want you to have to wait on me hand and foot. I am quite capable of pulling my own weight. I am a pretty good cook. By the way, this is very good, what’s in these eggs?”

“A pinch of a special Caribbean seasoning.”

“Interesting. Anyway, I am sure I can also help you around this boat. I’m a fast learner.”

“Excellent.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I could use some help.”

“Just say the word, and I’ll do it.”

“Been around a boat much?”

“Some,” she said, stretching the truth. She took another bite, realizing it had been nearly twenty-four hours since she had eaten. She took a piece of toast and bit into it. “But as I’ve said, I’m a fast learner.”

He nodded.

After the meal, Samantha began clearing the table and told him to make himself scarce.

“Thanks. Wake me in about four hours.”

“What? Isn’t the boat still moving?”

“Lady, I’ve been up for about forty-eight hours. After you finish here, I’d like you to man the helm for a while until I can get some rest.”

“Man the helm?”

“Drive the boat.”

“But I don’t know how to—”

“Relax. You offered to help, and the boat will practically sail itself. I just need someone to be on watch.” He took her hand and led her up the ladder. On deck he looked upward. “This is the mainsail. You see those little pieces of red yarn half-way up the sail?”

“Yes but—”

“Those are tell-tales. There’s on the jib sail also–that’s the forward sail. You see how the tell-tales are blowing horizontal?”

“Yes, but you don’t understand—”

“If they start flying upward, that means we’re too close to the wind. If the autopilot doesn’t fully correct, pull the winch on the port side–that’s the left side of the boat. You see this wing nut? Release the lock and let the winch out a couple of clicks, careful you don’t let it pinch your finger. If the tell-tales droop downward, tighten the starboard–right winch a few clicks like this until it becomes horizontal. Any questions?”

Before she could respond, he staggered down the ladder and was out of sight.

“Guess not.” She took a deep breath, settled in, found a seat where she could glue her eyes to the tell-tales, and mentally reviewed his instructions.

Cleaning the galley would have to wait.

Late afternoon, she turned and saw him standing with his arms on the bulkhead at the top of the hatch. He looked more like a god than a man, and she was forced to look away, pretending to check the tell-tales.

“You were supposed to wake me after four hours.”

“Thought I’d let you sleep. Then maybe you wouldn’t be so grumpy.” She lifted her chin, quite proud she had mastered the art of sailing and hadn’t needed to wake him.

“Very funny . . . But thanks.” He turned and disappeared. Within a few minutes he returned with a bottle of water and a beer and sat across from her.

“Water okay?” He reached across and handed her the bottle. “Or I could fix you another rum and Coke?”

“Also very funny. Water is fine, thank you.”

The air had warmed to a pleasant degree and the sky had faded to a mix of blue and purple, as the sun raced toward the water off the starboard side of the boat. After a short while, the last of the sun sizzled into the Gulf of Mexico. The northeastern wind was still strong and heeled the boat to starboard. Samantha took her eyes from the sails and turned her head toward the east. Somewhere over that horizon of endless sea was the west coast of Florida and her freedom. But the urgency to jump ship had begun to fade. Was it the calm serenity of being under sail in the beautiful waters? Was it that she finally felt safe? A comfortable silence had settled in between them. The tension that hung in the air from when Samantha had spoken her mind earlier had dissipated. Had she come on too strong? She began to feel a twinge of guilt. Had she gone overboard in letting him know where things stood between them?

As the colors chased the sun over the horizon, she wondered where his final destination would take him. Grant it, it was none of her business, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Mr. Richey’s chivalrous heroics in aiding in her quest to be free would soon be history, and she would never see him again, so she resolved to be a little nosy if given an opening.

“Well,” he said, breaking the silence. “If the wind holds, we should make it to Tampa by sunset tomorrow.”

She had gotten that opening. “If you don’t mind my asking, where are you headed? You said something about the Keys?”

“My first stop is Islamorada–middle Keys. I have business there before I push on.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I would hate for you to have to go out of your way on my account. How much longer would it be if you stay on your plan and go straight to the keys–that is if you can tolerate me that long?”

He hesitated. “Another three or four days, tops. But it’s no trouble. I know you want to be on your way. It wouldn’t throw me that far behind. Not on much of a schedule anyway.”

“I’m okay with waiting until the Keys. I feel safe–out on the water, I mean. But if you want to get rid of me sooner . . .”

It was hard to read his expression, as there was a long pause. For a moment she thought he might not respond.

“Stay as long as you want.”

“Okay, if you’re sure, then it’s settled. Now, what would you like for dinner?”